


stop the clocks and turn the world around

by ramblesinmyhead



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, ben wyatt meme its about the found family, relationship tags added as and when
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21583819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblesinmyhead/pseuds/ramblesinmyhead
Summary: the world has ended. travelling south towards rumours of safety and prosperity is all anyone can do. but no one can do it alone. (an apocalypse au based on The Road)
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. here tomorrow, gone today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so first things first, this fic is a re-work of a fic i published a couple of years ago for a different fandom. its not copied word for word but some parts may be similar to that work, and if anyone had by chance read that fic they might see some similarities. i wanted to re-work it because it makes for an interesting look at the found-family trope and i hope folks enjoy!

“It happened again.”

_ Why? Why did it have to happen again? _

Mud soaks through to the skin of her knees but she barely notices. Her hands begin to freeze the further they push into the wet mound of earth in front of her but she barely notices. They grip at the earth, trying to mould it into something, something better than what it is, what it’s there for. 

_ The earth will remember him _ , the tall one had said, and again, she had barely noticed. 

No… she had barely believed. The earth is plagued by the dead, the dead seep into the soil and the trees and the rivers. The earth is infected by the dead. It isn’t remembering them.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, small and warm, but she barely notices. 

The lightning tears open a chasm in the sky and a second later, the thunder cascades through, crashing over her, sundering the silence and ripping her grief from her lungs in a terrifying scream. She feels her shoulders shake and erupt, the wings knocking away the touch meant to comfort. Her hands turn to fists in the mud and she slams them into the dirt above him, wishing she could send shockwaves through the ground with her fists, crack open the earth and sink into it.

“Yasha…”

Their voices are so much softer than she wants them to be. She wants them to contain thunderous anger, she wants them to beat their fists down on the ground too, become the storm rolling in ahead of them.

But no. They don’t understand, so they won’t do it. This is her grief and hers alone.

She needs to be alone.

The storm is calling to her like a heavenly choir.

She stands and their presence in her peripheral vision disappears and she finds herself moving, striding out into the storm that quiets the calls of her name.

“Yasha! Come back, where are you going?”

“What the fuck is she — Yasha, don’t go!”

She has no idea where she’s going. She just follows the sound of the storm over the crest of the hill because she knows that it will try and give her the salvation she needs, the space to scream, the noise to emulate her fury across an empty and dying world.

They can’t give her that. Not yet. Only when she returns will they understand they had been powerless to help her in this moment.

And she will return. She will find them just as she had found them once before. Of that, she has no doubt.

**_three months earlier_ **

“Hey, Beau?”

“What’s up, Jes?”

“Where do you think we are?”

Truthfully, they’re nowhere. After all, nowhere is all that exists now. Where once there were boundaries between empires and coasts, civilisation and the wilds, there is… nothing. Nowhere. A kind of destructive monotony where there was once creation and all the trials that came with it. In Beau’s words, it’s all turned into one endless shitshow. 

“I dunno,” she says, because she doesn’t want to let Jester down with the real answer of nowhere. “Where do  _ you _ think we are?” she adds, not wanting to let the conversation die. There’s too much silence.

“Oh, well, I don’t know either, but we must be getting closer because we’ve been travelling for  _ ages _ , right, Fjord?” she says, looking over her shoulder at the half-orc.

“Sure thing, Jes,” he says, not looking at her but glancing around at their surroundings. Watching. Waiting. “You still got that map, Beau?”

She does but she doesn’t want to pull it out. She remembers they passed a town marker what feels like a couple of hours back, and Fjord insists that they’re still heading south so she’s pretty certain she could track their path.

She doesn’t share Jester’s optimism. She never really has, and that had been fine, because Jester was optimistic enough for the both of them. Sometimes for all three of them. And sure, some of it had rubbed off on Beau, softened the cynicism deep in her bones. She’d been taught that it was okay to see some good in the world.

And then the damn world ended and Beau’s back at square one because  _ fuck _ if something was going to make her lose that bit of faith of something good, well… yeah, the end of the world was pretty much going to do it.

“Oh!”

Jester’s exclamation makes Beau jump and before she can ask what the hell that was necessary for, Jester has left her side and is skipping over to the burnt out shell of a car, her tail swishing in the dust. It’s one of the first ones they’ve seen for quite some time, choosing to stick off the road. But they’ve wound their way through the hills to get some bearings, and as such, found the road again.

“Hey! What happened to sticking close…” Fjord jogs past Beau, his shout quieting to muttering to himself as he catches up with Jester.

Jester is kneeling in the dust, wiping away the grime from the license plate with her tattered sleeve. Beau stands a couple of paces back, the muscles in her arms twitching in anticipation. She doesn’t like being on the road, she feels perpetually uncomfortable: she’s not as strong as she used to be, lack of food has made it nearly impossible for her to keep up with a demanding regime, however hard she tried. But she still prides herself in the belief that she could kick ass in a fight.

“Well that can’t be right.” The frown is evident in Jester’s voice and her shoulders sag. “We’ve got to be further south than  _ that _ .”

Fjord glances at Beau and she shakes her head silently: unfortunately for them, Jester’s optimism couldn’t teleport them as far south as they would like to be right now. They can’t lie to Jester, she wouldn’t have it within herself to lie to her best friend.

“Right, guys?” Jester’s staring at them, trying to get them to say what she must so desperately want to hear. But there’s a little less light in Jester’s eyes that tells Beau that some of that optimism has vanished.

“Well… I mean, maybe…”

Beau has no idea where she’s going with whatever she’s trying to say. It’s just too  _ sad _ to see how let down, how crushed Jester is about this. But strangely, not as crushed as Beau had thought she would be: and then it clicks. Even Jester isn’t above lying to herself, it seems. In a morbid sort of way, it makes Beau feel better because she’s not as scared at the thought of letting Jester down.

It’s as if Jester has always known the answers she had been most dreading.

“Maybe… they were just tourists,” Fjord offers, though Beau can tell he doesn’t believe in what he’s saying. “Travellin’ down and just got left behind.”

A faint smile crosses Jester’s lips and she stands up, squeezing Fjord’s hand as she walks past him.

“It’s okay, Fjord,” she says. “It was sweet that you tried, though.”

The two of them continue walking down the road and Beau silently decides to watch their back for a bit instead of Fjord. She readjusts the backpack on her shoulder and ignores the ache rising up her neck.

The new day dawns in a haze of grey. In the last moments of sleep she sees a world where the sky was a brilliant, calming blue, punctuated with wispy, pure-white clouds. It’s blissful. But when she opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling of grey above her, the memory trickles through her fingers like smoke, uncontainable.

She wishes she knew what season it was. She hopes it’s Spring: it had always been her favourite. Her world had always been its coldest during Winter, what with all the holidays and her family pretending not to hate each other’s guts over the dinner table they shared twice in the same season. She would always leave feeling colder than ever before, though unfazed by it in the end.

And then Spring would come and the promise of warm days would chase away the ache in her bones, the blossom on the trees would remind her that the good things can soften the bad things and life would go on.

But there’s none of that now. She wishes she could close her eyes and dream of Spring for eternity. But she can’t. She won’t. She’ll stand firm and draw her fists and fight for the same reason she had always fought: her friends.

“Mornin’”

She lifts her head up and rests back on her elbows, nodding glumly at Fjord who is poking a stick into the embers of last nights fire.

“Is it?” she asks, her voice cracked and dry. It was impossible to tell when it was morning these days.

“We best get moving,” he says, his tone as dejected as she feels. “Keep headin’ south.”

She stifles a yawn and pushes herself to her feet. She peers through the trees and can make out Jester’s blue tiefling form poking through the rows of charred bark.

“What’s she doing?” she asks over her shoulder at Fjord. He shrugs.

“Prayin’.”

“Hmph.”

She feels bad as soon as she made the snort of disbelief. It’s not Jester’s fault she’s choosing to find guidance from somewhere. It’s not even a fault at all. After all, what’s Beau got to go on? Hearsay that somewhere south, on the Menagerie Coast, there was salvation, a new start for all the survivors.

It’s more laughable than what Jester’s counting on. All she’s got are rumours. Counting on the whispers of other people who had done nothing but lie to her for her entire life. Except for the two people she’s travelling this path with, and if they believed it, well… 

That’s good enough for her.

A fine mist of rain soaks them to the skin as they trudge out of the forest they’d camped in and back onto the open road. In the distance, Beau can see the faint outline of houses. Whether or not they’re occupied, she doesn’t know: she isn’t sure if she wants to find out.

It seems to take an age to reach the outskirts of the small town. Here lie more shells of long since rusted and charred cars with doors missing, trunks open… and blood. She doubts if anyone made it out of the town and, after seeing dried pool after dried pool of dark crimson, she doubts even less if anyone made it out alive. 

“What do you think happened here?” Fjord says. He’s been doing most of the talking: Jester probably said more words in her prayer to the Traveller than she had done all day. Beau hasn’t really found much to talk about.

“Same thing that happened everywhere,” she says, her eyes darting around.

For a split second, she  _ swears _ she sees something shifting in the shadows. She narrows her eyes, standing completely still. But all she sees is darkness and convinces herself that it was probably no more than a stray sheet of newspaper blowing in the breeze.

Except there is no breeze.

But she doesn’t tell the other two, instead keeps her hand wrapped around the strap on her shoulder, inches away from the modified crowbar pressed between her pack and coat. 

“I think we should stop here for tonight,” Fjord suggests.

Beau can’t voice how much she really,  _ really _ does not want to stay in this town a second longer. But the night is already creeping in and who knows how much further down the road other shelter is. 

“How about over there?” Jester says, pointing ahead to a building that looks like it might once have been a town hall. “There’s probably some stuff in there still, you know, we could do with some more bandages or food or something.”

Both of them look at Beau, waiting for her answer: one thing they always agreed on was that each decision by the group had to be unanimous.

“It’s gotta be warmer than out here,” she says, gesturing for the two of them to continue on towards the old building. 

The stone is discoloured and crumbling slightly, dead ivy poking through the cracks. The doors  _ creak _ open, the wood rotting slightly around the edges, pieces coming off in her hands as she pushes them closed again. She withdraws the crowbar and sticks it between the handles, trapping them inside.

“You two stay here. Keep quiet.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone here, Beau —”

Beau holds a hand up to silence Jester as she steps forward lightly onto dirt-covered marble slabs. She blinks rapidly to adjust her poor human eyes to the darkness and slowly, the shapes become more distinct and she can make out the outlines of upturned tables, broken chairs and the smashed remnants of fluorescent lights.

Through the silence, she can hear the thudding of her own heart.

And then suddenly her pounding of her heart doesn’t match up to the sounds she can hear. There’s no rhythm to the noise, it’s just a dull… tapping? Like someone isn’t paying attention to the noise they’re creating, it’s mindless. But it sends a cold shiver down her spine and the three of them stand there, with bated breath, waiting for… she doesn’t know what.

She  _ knew _ she hadn’t just seen something blowing innocuously in the non-existent wind. Something, someone, is here with them. She gestures carefully for the other two to follow her as she steps cautiously between the broken glass and wood, pleading with herself to remain absolutely silent.

_ Clink _ .

She closes her eyes, mouths a string of obscenities, and turns to look back at where Fjord is absolutely  _ frozen _ in terror. He looks wildly at her, apologetically holding his hands up. She glances down and even with her pathetic human eyesight she can see the toe of his boot barely touching a silvery kind of thread.

_ Fwoosh _ .

The arrow comes sailing out of the darkness and, with an echoing  _ twang _ , embeds itself into the top of an overturned table. Beau’s mind races, overwhelmed, she glances over her shoulder at where her crowbar is stuck into the handles of the door, then to Jester who has her hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide, and then to Fjord who has his pocketknife drawn.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The voice rings clear in the emptiness of the town hall, high-pitched but not out of fear of these strangers who have wandered into this already occupied space. She’s not quite sure what makes her step forward and hold her hands in the air, but she just knows it's the only option she has.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” she calls out into the darkness, squinting for any movement. “We just wanted a warm place to rest for the night. We’re sorry, we didn’t know anyone else was here.”

She glances back towards Fjord and Jester, the two of them nodding their approval at her words. It feels like an extraordinary amount of faith has been put into her. It’s quite unnerving.

“Are you alone?” Beau jumps at the sound of Jester’s voice. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you, but we can help you if you’re alone or hurt or something.”

“We are not hurt. And we are not looking for help.”

It’s a different voice than the first. Beau’s heart rate quickens, wondering how many more people are hidden in the shadows. This voice is a man’s, somewhat stern and cold, with a distinct accent she can’t quite place when her mind is flooded with apprehension.

“We don’t wish to cause you any trouble,” Fjord says, clearing his throat a little. “We’re very sorry to have disturbed you, and we’ll be on our way.”

But none of them move. They can hear whispers, as quiet as the wind Beau thought she had felt earlier. She strains her ears but picks up nothing. Any second now she expects to feel the piercing of an arrow in her chest.

“Uh…” She clears her throat. “Just so we know, is there anyone else here in this town? ‘Cause we’d really like to sleep inside for once.”

The whispers end abruptly.

“We don't know. We were just passing through here,” comes the cold voice. “I would recommend you keep moving.”

It doesn’t sound like a threat. In fact, for however cold the voice sounds, there’s a hint of concern there. Like he knows just how dangerous the world outside has become. He clearly senses no threat.

“Well, we’re just passing through too!” Jester says, brazenly taking a step forward. “Are you heading south?”

Fjord makes frantic movements with his hands to tell Jester to stay quiet but she either doesn’t notice or ignores him.

“ _ Ja _ . We are travelling south.”

“This is great, you guys!” Jester says, and Beau knows exactly what she’s going to say before she does so. “We could all go together! We won't hurt you, we’re just like you!”

“ _ Jes _ ,” Beau hisses, desperately trying to get her friend to exercise some caution. But that was Jester, believing the good in people even in a world like this. 

“What? It would be safety in numbers, you know, like you said when we started to leave Rexxentrum —”

“We are okay alone.” The man’s voice rings out through the darkness, cutting Jester off.

“Okay, if you say so,” Jester says lightly. “But you know, if you leave at the same time we do, and we’re travelling the same way, we’ll just run into you again eventually, and then you’d basically be travelling with us anyway.”

Silence. 

And then, behind her, Beau hears Fjord chuckling to himself and she can’t help the grin that breaks over her face. Trust Jester to be so on the nose about things like this, Beau thinks. She doesn’t even care if another arrow gets fired at them, it’s worth it to feel like laughing again.

She can’t explain why she suddenly feels bolder than usual. Still with a grin on her face, she takes another step forward, ignoring the crunch of class under her boots. There’s no arrow sailing towards her this time.

“Beau, be careful, it could be a trap,” Fjord mutters through the darkness.

She just  _ knows _ she has to make the first move. Whoever is in the shadows isn’t going to come towards them, no matter how logical Jester is. It’s too late to turn back around now, and she’s not dead yet so, despite everything, there’s something inside her telling her that these people will not hurt her.

She slowly lowers her hands by her side. She’s not sure how much further into the shadows she has to go to reach whoever is there but if Jester and Fjord can’t see them, it has to be a fair distance. Of course it could be a trap.

She turns her head to look at Fjord through the darkness.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine the geography of this world as like the US but with all the places of wildemount. and... sorry for the start, but there's plenty more to come i promise


	2. radio nowhere

Through the darkness, she sees it. A faint gleam of huge, yellow eyes peering back at her. Before she can squint through the gloom, there’s the sound of a match being struck and a small  _ woosh _ of gas being ignited and the room is illuminated in a dull orange glow.

The lantern is being held by a human man, a couple of inches shorter than Fjord. He looks, even for this world, distinctly dishevelled: his clothes look as though they’ve never  _ not _ been patched and frayed, just as his hair and beard look like they’ve never been taken care of. 

His expression, much like his appearance, leaves little to be desired. He doesn’t seem scared or apprehensive. He doesn’t even seem aggressive. It takes a second for Beau to work out  _ what _ exactly his expression is and then it hits her, nearly knocking her back a couple of steps.

This man, whoever he is, looks overwhelmingly…  _ sad _ .

Before she has time to process how blindsided she is by it, she hears Fjord draw a breath beside her (when they had caught up to her, she doesn’t know) and she glances down to where she had seen the eyes.

Well. It’s not what she expected.

In the newly illuminated room, the features are distinct enough to place. The ears are long, drooping slightly and the eyes, almost like a cat’s, glare at them. Teeth, sharp and pointed, are bared just a little, but for all the warning they’re trying to give, the goblin, yes, a freaking  _ goblin _ , is half-hiding behind the man’s legs, clutching a small hand crossbow.

“You can stop there,” the man says and now the initial panic has eased off, Beau recognises his accent as Zemnian.

“Is that a goblin?” Fjord whispers, slightly too loudly and the goblin bares her teeth and snarls at Fjord.

“Yes, she’s my friend,” the man says, defensive but calm. “There is nothing to make a big deal about. I could say the same about you —” he nods to Beau “— travelling with a tiefling and a half-orc. Strange bedfellows, if you ask me.”

“Ew, we don’t share a  _ bed _ ,” Jester says: it’s not even been five minutes and she’s already making suggestive jokes. “Well, except for that one time back in our old house where we had stayed up late to watch a really, really scary movie and Fjord didn’t want to sleep in his own —”

“Like the gentleman said,” Fjord interjects loudly. “There’s nothing to make a big deal about. I was just… surprised, is all.”

“Yeah! We don’t know you, you can’t judge us,” the goblin girl says, emerging fully out from behind the man’s legs. 

“Hey, he just said we’re not making a big deal about it,” Beau says, holding her hands up. “You’re making it a big deal —“

“I’m Jester!” 

She jumps forward and holds out her hand, ending all further argument. The man squints at her, and, upon deciding the joyful, blue tiefling poses no threat, shakes her hand.

“ _ Hallo _ , Jester,” the man says carefully. “My name is Caleb. This is my friend, her name is Nott.”

“Nice to meet you Caleb and Nott!” Jester says in a very exaggerated formal kind of voice, bending down to shake Nott’s hand, too. “These are my friends, Beauregard and Fjord.”

“Pleasure,” Fjord nods.

“Uh, just Beau is fine,” Beau says, awkwardly raising her hand and glancing between the two not-quite strangers.

No one says anything for a moment after that. Jester seems to think her job is done and hangs back by Beau, glancing around at their surroundings instead of at Caleb and Nott. Beau herself is at a bit of a loss as to what to say, still silently overwhelmed by what has happened in the last… half an hour? Fifteen minutes? Ioun only knows.

It’s Fjord, as always, that breaks the silence as if it had never been awkward at all.

“How about we get a fire goin’ in here?” he says and he actually claps his hands together like he’s an over-enthusiastic professor trying to encourage a group of bored students. “Get this place warmed up a touch.”

“Sure,” Beau shrugs, and quickly moves to where she had seen some broken tables and chairs, desperate to get out of the cloud of tension.

She can hear the others making polite conversation as she breaks apart chunks of wood, some of it too rotten to be of any use, and starts to load it into bundles in her arms. She’s still not quite sure what the hell just happened. Have they suddenly added two new members to their small party? Are they just having a slumber party in a ruined town hall and then moving on with their lives? Well… it was like Jester had said, they were sure to run into each other again eventually…

She can’t say she’s super content with the idea of travelling with this Caleb and Nott. Realistically, they know nothing about them, and yes, the man and goblin know nothing about the three of them either. But still… it had been the look in Caleb’s eyes.

Beau can’t escape it. And she kind of hates that she can’t because, fuck, she doesn’t know the guy from any other survivor. Why should she even consider caring about him?  _ What’s caring ever done for me _ ? the tiny, sneering voice that sounds like her eighteen year old self says in the back of her mind.

She shakes her head. Caring has given her Fjord and Jester. It had given her the strength to tell her parents to fuck off and not contact her again when, for the first time, she had decided to care for herself.

“Hey, Beau! We’re freezing over here!”

She jumps at the sound of Jester’s voice and realises she’s just been standing there for a few minutes, her arms aching from the amount of wood cradled in them. She huffs the thoughts out of her brain and walks back to the troop.

She stacks the wood in the middle of an open space and, with silent communication between her and Caleb, the fire is crackling, casting long shadows on the walls of the hall. Caleb blows out the lantern and settles down beside Beau, with Nott pressed against his other side.

“Sooooo…” Nott’s high-pitched voice rings out. She’s still glaring a little at Fjord who is sat on the other side of the flames, clearly avoiding the goblin. “What happened to your tusks?”

“I do not think that is any of our concern,” Caleb mutters, barely loud enough for Beau to hear.

“That’s quite rude, you know,” Jester says, frowning slightly. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to, Fjord,” she adds, passing him a tin of something she had been heating slowly over the flames.

“Sorry, it wasn’t meant to be rude,” Nott says, though without any meaning behind the apology. “I’m just interested, he doesn’t look like any half-orc  _ I’ve _ ever seen.”

Fjord takes the tin from Jester, clearing his throat. He seems quite unperturbed by Nott’s question and, in all the years she’s known Fjord, Beau has to say she’s never really given his lack of tusks much thought.

“Well, y’see, I grew up in Port Damali, and you get a lot of strange folk hanging around, especially by the docks,” Fjord says slowly. “Before I moved away, I used to get picked on by the other half-orcs, cause I’m… well. Smaller than the average orc-blooded folk.”

“I think you’re very strong, Fjord,” Jester pipes up and even through the flames, Beau can see him blush. 

“Anyway, I… took to filing the damn things down when they started to pick on me for having tusks too big for me,” he finishes in a rush. “Guess I never really broke the habit,” he laughs humorlessly.

“Man… that sucks,” Beau says, and she means it. “I feel like we should’ve asked you about them before,” she adds uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Fjord says, waving a hand. “They ain’t around to tease me no more.”

“I think you are making the right decision,” Caleb says, looking somewhere slightly to the left of Fjord. “The more you can hide the parts of you that ah… stand out, the better in this world, I think.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Caleb shifts uncomfortably: he seems permanently uncomfortable, it’s obvious in the way his eyes have been constantly darting around.

“Ah, well… you know, people tend to… look unkindly upon those who appear different from themselves,” Caleb says. He seems to choose each word with great care. “I fear in a world such as this, those divides are even greater than they were before.”

No one really knows what to say to that and Beau can’t help but glance down at Nott: yes, Caleb is probably right. People, humans, probably have taken it upon themselves to alienate goblins, tieflings, and half-orcs.

They sit in silence for a little while after that. Caleb and Nott eventually pull their own rations from their pack and heat them over the fire. The warmth from the fire starts to send Beau into a bit of a daze: she settles her back against an overturned desk and feels more comfortable, secure, and safe than she has in a long time.

Her head nods onto her chest and she jolts awake. She isn’t sure how long she had actually been asleep for, but the fire has died down and Fjord and Jester are snoring quietly, bundled under the same blankets.

A stick is poked into the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air and Beau jumps. Glancing around, she sees Caleb, wide-awake, with Nott curled into his side, fast asleep.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I prefer to keep watch,” Caleb says. “What about you?”

She shrugs. “I dunno, I guess I didn’t really plan on falling asleep. Kinda spooked myself.” He just nods at that. “Anyway… thanks for not murdering us in our sleep and taking all our shit.”

For the first time, Caleb cracks a small smile.

“ _ Ja _ , you’re welcome Beauregard.”

The silence doesn’t feel as awkward as it had done when all five of them had been awake. Maybe it’s just her: she had taught herself to keep quiet when she had been alone, content to not draw any attention and not give anyone an excuse to interact with her. Caleb is so silent that she does feel like she’s by herself, hiding in her darkened bedroom at her parent’s house, willing everyone to leave her alone.

“If you are awake, I was wondering if you would help me with something,” Caleb says after a while.

“Depends what it is, I guess,” she shrugs again.

“Before you and your fellows arrived, we had been searching this place for anything of use and we discovered something with some potential in one of the back rooms,” he says and jeez, she has a feeling she’s going to be constantly wishing he would just cut to the chase.

“Oh yeah?”

She’s slightly apprehensive now, but out of instinct than anything else. It has all the makings of a trap… but, as she had pointed out, it would have been easier to just kill them all in their sleep and run rather than lure them somewhere individually.

“ _ Ja _ , it may be nothing of use anymore, but before I could try to get it to work, the three of you arrived,” he says. “So, maybe you would like to try and help me?”

She can’t deny that it’s intriguing. And, shit, if he really did try to attack her, there’s no way in hell she wouldn’t be able to kick his ass into the ground. So, she pushes herself to her feet and brushes the dust of her hands. Caleb seems surprised at her eagerness and he places another piece of wood on the fire before standing, picking up the lantern from the table and lighting it. 

Beau can’t help but peek into the other side rooms they pass: they seem to hold nothing of value, just empty filing cabinets, discarded shotgun shells and an assortment of plastic bottles, cans, and food wrappers.  _ Well, it could be worse _ .

Caleb suddenly turns into perhaps what used to be an office and sets the lantern down on the only shelf that is still attached to the wall. The light bounces off charcoal markings on the walls: tally marks. She runs her fingers over the soft bumps of graphite, wondering idly what they mean.

“Here.” Caleb is kneeling in front of the desk, and in the process of shifting what looks like an old radio transmitter towards the edge with a horrible scraping sound of metal against badly-sanded wood. “Would you check the wiring at the back for me, please?”

She leans over and finds burnt out pieces of copper sticking out the ends of plastic tubing: she jumps down to her knees to look under the table and spots a wire going through the wall, similarly burnt out.

“Huh.”

“ _ Was _ ?”

She stands back up and grabs the edge of the desk. Caleb moves out of the way as she pulls it away from the wall and hops over it to the other side.

“Look.” She holds up the wire coming out of the back of the transmitter up to Caleb. “It wasn’t cut, it’s been pulled.”

“I wonder why,” he muses and she shrugs. “So, it will not work?”

“Nah, you just need to rewire it.” She pulls out a small pocket knife and carefully strips back the plastic casing. “Do me a favour?”

“ _ Ja.  _ What do you need?”

“Well, Fjord tripped over some wire or something earlier when we walked in. Might be useful.”

Caleb reaches into his pocket and, connecting the dots in Beau’s brain, he pulls out a reel of copper wire. “I believe this is the wire you are talking about.”

She laughs because of fucking course it was him. Clever, now she thinks about it. Cleverer than she feels right now, fixing some piece of junk that probably won’t work anyway.

“Do you know how to wire an old radio transmitter?”

“Nah, but I once rewired my dad’s old radio he threw out so I could blast brain-eating rock music out my bedroom window to piss him off.” 

That seems good enough for Caleb as he unravels a length of wire and as carefully as she can, she wraps the end around the undamaged bare wires coming from the transmitter and the wall. She hops back over the table and the two of them stare at the transmitter.

“What do we do now?”

“Uh… we turn it on, I guess?” Beau shrugs and flicks the switch. Nothing. As expected. “Well, fuck.”

“It was worth a try,  _ ja _ ?” 

And she’s going to try some more. She leaps back to the other side and draws her pocket knife again. She manages to get enough leverage to unscrew the panel at the back and, as is their luck, it’s a mess of tangled and split wiring. So she gets to work, being passed copper wire and trying not to think this is a completely pointless task. 

But it’s something to do and keep busy until the others wake up and they can decide where they’re going next. And decide if they are travelling together or going their separate ways. She’s itching to know more.

“So… you and Nott, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothin’. Just what you said about humans creating divisions. The whole ‘them and us’ bullshit.”

“I did not say humans, I said people.”

Beau glances up at him and raises an eyebrow. “I know what you meant, though. But you’re obviously not like them.”

“No,” he whispers. “I am not like them.”

“Well, hey man, that’s a good thing. Stick it to the man, am I right?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

“You know, screw them. It’s all bullshit, always has been.”

“ _ Ja _ , well… I believe it is because I tried to, ah… ‘screw them’ that I am travelling with Nott,” Caleb says, handing her some more wire.

“Damn, you did? Seriously? I mean… no offence, you just don’t look the type to… stick ‘em, y’know?”

“You are right. I am not usually the type to do that. However… sometimes you have no other choice,” he says. “Especially if you want to do the right thing.”

“So, you saved her. Good for you.” Beau takes the wire he’s been holding and has already fixed it in place before he says, in the smallest voice;

“No. She saved me.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that but Caleb doesn’t seem to mind. She works in silence and eventually, she’s managed everything she can think to try.

“Okay, give it a go,” she says, hovering behind the desk and staring at the wiring. Caleb flicks the switch and she swears she hears a small whir of something but it’s gone as quickly as it had come, if it had even been there at all. “Fucking shit balls.”

“I believe that is the correct response.”

She groans but before she can think of what to do next or if shouting some more profanities would help, someone calls her name and she hears running footsteps before Jester appears at the door.

“Fjord! I found her!”

“Thank the Gods… kick her ass for me!” comes the reply.

“What’re you doing in here?” says another voice and Beau looks over the desk and sees Nott rounding Jester’s legs and running up to Caleb.

“You shouldn’t just leave us like that, Beau, anything could have happened and we wouldn’t have known!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Beau says, sliding back over to the other side. “I couldn’t sleep and Caleb here needed my help.”

She has to raise her voice over the sound of Nott chastising Caleb: “We don’t know her, she could have hurt you —”

“Nothing happened, I’m okay. I asked Beauregard to help me fix this radio transmitter,” Caleb says, gesturing behind him.

“Oooh, do you think it’ll work anymore?” Jester asks, joining them in the room. There’s the sound of heavy footsteps and Fjord appears, squeezing into the room. It’s now quite cramped.

“We have not had any luck,” Caleb mutters. 

Beau kneels in front of the transmitter and huffs. She rests her chin on her hand as she plays with the switches and buttons.

“Stupid piece of junk anyway,” she mutters.

And, of course, as if it had been waiting for this moment, as soon as the words are out of her mouth, there’s a whirring sound and lights start to blink quickly on the system. A low hum starts to echo around the room and no one makes a sound.

“Holy shit,” Jester whispers.

“Ha!” Beau jumps up and spins around, grinning. “I did it! I —  _ we  _ — freaking did it!”

“How? I mean, how the hell did you fix that thing?” Nott says, sounding a little bit disbelieving that Beau had actually done anything.

“Oh, just a simple matter of copper wire and reminiscing about stealing old junk and fixing it to piss off your parents,” Beau says and holds her fist out towards Caleb who looks startled before gently bumping his fist against hers.

They all suddenly seem far more energetic than they have in weeks, months maybe. Hovering, vibrating with the same hum that is coming from the radio transmitter. Well, shit, now they actually have to  _ do _ something.

“What do we do? Quick, we can’t lose this, what should we do?” Beau says, her hands twitching over the transmitter.

“But  _ how _ ? How is it working? There’s… nothing, there’s no way it can be working,” Fjord says, pushing past Jester and Caleb to join Beau.

“I dunno, maybe… maybe there’s some power lines somewhere,” Beau pulls out of the air. “Or a lightning storm triggered it, there was one a couple of nights ago, right?”

“Go on, Fjord, say something” Jester says eagerly. “You’re the best with words, I bet whoever is listening will listen to you.”

“I do not mean to ruin the moment, but are we quite sure this is not a trap?” Caleb says quietly as Fjord picks up the receiver.

“What’re they gonna do if it is? Scream at us down the line until our ears bleed or something?” Beau says, and Caleb either doesn’t appreciate or doesn’t understand her flippant humour.

However, he says nothing else as Fjord tosses the receiver between his hands. Beau reaches out and twists the dials randomly until the crackle of static fades and the hum becomes a drone, the five of them wincing at the sound.

Fjord clears his throat and brings the receiver to his mouth. “Hello? Can anyone hear me? Anyone out there?” he says loudly. “Um… over,” he adds a little less boldly at the end.

There’s a long pause. It’s as if the universe itself is holding its breath. Beau waits for the hum to cut out, braces herself for the crushing disappointment of something that had seemed like tangible hope to disappear.

And then there’s a laugh. And a lilting and excited voice comes through.

“ _ My dear, it is a  _ joy _ to receive you loud and clear _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #team-'not-as-shitty-as-they-could-have-been'-human


	3. to die for good, it must be earned

* * *

**_fifteen minutes previously_ **

* * *

“Could you stop doing that?”

“Certainly, if it’s bothering you.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just very distracting. And I don’t think it works.”

“Oh well, not with that attitude it won’t.”

“There’s no electricity. The closest we got was the storm two nights ago.”

Molly huffs at Yasha’s pessimism, making it known he doesn’t appreciate it, but she just resumes sharpening the long, machete-type blade across her knees, too used to his complaining to care. 

He thumps his feet up on the table upon which sits the outdated radio and starts to test how far back he can lean on the chair, rocking back and forth with his legs crossed at the ankles. Yasha glaces up at him when the _creak_ _creak creak_ of the wonky legs gets too much and he falls back to the floor. 

The apocalypse is _boring_.

Well, at least he isn’t alone. Yasha might not be the most adept at conversation, but she provides a strong, settling kind of comfort. She radiates safety, however imposing she might look to outsiders. She’s all he has, and he’s all she has. That’s _good_ , that’s enough and it’s safe.

But _damn_ if he isn’t bored.

He leans back in his chair again and fiddles with the dials on the radio. It’s not worked once in the months they’ve been camped out in the woods. But, like Yasha, it’s weirdly comforting: it’s a connection to the old world. He’s not sure why it’s here, but it always has been.

And maybe for good reason.

“ _Hello? Can anyone hear me?_ ”

The reaction is immediate. Molly nearly topples off the back of his chair and Yasha springs to her feet, blade in hand, looking around wildly before realising where the voice is coming from. She crosses the room in one large stride, the two of them listening, holding their breath, as static continues to come through the, until that moment, broken radio.

 _“Anyone out there? Um… over_.”

This is no joke. They’re not hallucinating. The world is too sharp for this to be a dream. He dives for the receiver and turns the volume up on the machine so the small cabin is filled with the static sound. Before he can speak, Yasha places a large, warm hand on his wrist with a warning look. But he can’t just sit there.

“My dear, it is a _joy_ to receive you loud and clear.”

The static on the other end of the line seems louder somehow, as if a lot of people are moving around. He twists the dials and the transmission becomes clearer and the man’s voice, kind with a noticeable drawl, comes through again.

“ _Well hell. We didn’t think anyone was gonna answer. This sure is unexpected._ ”

“For all of us,” Molly says, waving Yasha’s silent “careful” away. There’s a hundred questions running around his head, who are you, how did you get here, how are you even _alive_ … but there’s definitely the sound of commotion on the other side. “Who else is there?”

“ _Oh, well, we’ve got a whole weird and wonderful group_ —”

“ _Hey, watch who you’re calling weird, shorty!_ ”

“ _That’s ironic._ ”

“ _Don’t be mean, Beau._ ”

“ _Yeah, don’t be mean Beau!_ ”

The bickering, from what sounds like at least three more people, fades away as the first voice comes back clearer.

“ _What about you, are you alone out there?_ ”

Yasha makes a low noise in the back of her throat and glares at Molly, almost pleading with him to just _shut the fuck up_ because this is pointing to all kinds of danger the two of them might not be able to talk or, in Yasha’s case, kill their way out of.

But he doesn’t pay her any attention. 

“I have a trustworthy companion. She’s a charm. You must be close by to reach us.”

“ _I guess we must be. Not a darn clue where we are, if truth be told_.”

“Oh, somewhere near what I believe is left of Trostenwald,” Molly says, and Yasha scoffs next to him to let him know she’s annoyed he just gave away their position.

“ _So we really aren’t that far south after all,_ ” comes one of the voices from before, this time sounding profoundly upset.

“Heading south, are we?” He doesn’t mean to sound condescending, but they have heard about how travellers were migrating south to a better future where there’s safety and a chance at starting all over again. About how some groups would stop at nothing to get there and how those left behind, stranded, were just like them, waiting to see if the next day brought anything new or hopeful. Today feels hopeful to him.

But _really_ , how great could the south coast be after all of this…

“ _What about the two of you? Seems this is the place to be to meet other travellers._ ”

“Oh, that life isn’t for us anymore, I’m afraid, though I’m sure it’s full of wonderful dangers and exhilarating encounters.”

“ _And which one of those are you?_ ” comes a new voice, more distant than the others with a light Zemnian accent.

The question makes him think more than expected. It seems like a perfect opening, an opportunity for… something brand new. He looks out of the dusty window, up towards the infinitely grey sky he can see through the dead trees. It’s going to be a risky move, he knows it. And somehow he has to get Yasha on board: not an arduous task by any means, but still one he isn’t looking forward to. But he knows Yasha, like himself, is not one to shy away from risk.

“If you’d like to find out, there’s a safe place for you to camp for the night. We’ve plenty of room for lost travellers.”

At this, as expected, Yasha throws her hands into the air and turns her back on him. She starts to pace, arms crossed, and he can feel her glaring at him as she stalks up and down the cabin. He knows she wants to yell at him, but it’s already been said and she knows it.

The line is filled with static again as it sounds like a scuffle is happening.

“ _What do you want_?” A voice, the person he thinks was called Beau by her companions, filled with distrust comes through.

“Why do you presume we want something? Is it not enough to simply be a kind soul in this world?”

“ _No one is kind in this world for the sake of it. People always have something to gain._ ”

“There’s an obnoxious sound coming through, is this thing still working?”

“ _Fuck you._ ”

“Not my type, dear.”

“ _That makes two of us_ . _But like I said, what do you gain?_ ”

“Nothing except your pleasant company I’m sure. I can’t tell you how nice it would be to see other faces. Yasha’s a _dream_ , but she might just eat me alive if she spends any more time alone with me.”

“ _Great, meeting with a group of cannibals.”_

“ _How’s about this for a compromise,_ ” the first voice comes back. “ _Y’all come meet us as soon as it’s light. And we can decide from there, that way no harm done._ ”

There’s whispering he can’t quite decipher, the static starting to come back onto the line as it runs out of power. He turns back to Yasha who has stopped her pacing, now quietly fuming in the corner. She just shrugs her shoulders, clearly unwilling to fight him on this. His mind is made up: fifteen minutes ago he was bored out of his mind, he needs this change of pace.

“We’ll be there.”

“ _Excellent. But… how do we know we can trust you?_ ”

“You don’t. Until tomorrow, friends.”

The line cuts out. He finds himself grinning for some reason, considering how dangerous of a situation he just got them into. But _who cares_ … except for Yasha. He certainly doesn’t, and for all he said about not wanting the adventure and the danger, he feels more alive than he has since the world died.

He spins around gleefully to find Yasha in the shadows still, not so much glaring but almost… apprehensive. Not an emotion Molly often sees on Yasha’s face. 

“I don’t like this, Molly. It’s too easy.”

“Oh, come on love, let’s just live a little, shall we?” he sighs, knowing very well that this decision could mean they won’t be living at all.

“You didn’t even find out their _names_ ,” she says, with a little bite behind it. “Except the one who seems to be _very_ cautious about the idea of meeting with us.”

“Cautious, obnoxious,” Molly shrugs as if the difference doesn’t matter. “And we’ll find out their names tomorrow. It’s _exciting,_ I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. I mean this in the _nicest_ possible way, but look at you, you’re about as tall and broad as the trees, no one is going to touch you.”

“The trees are dead, Molly.” No need to read into what Yasha means by that. “I think five people could kill us both easily.”

“And what a fun way to go. It’s certainly more of a show than slowly starving to death in the forest.”

“I thought you didn’t want adventure. You said it’s not for us.”

“This isn’t about adventure, this is about helping people,” he says firmly, dropping all of the flowery tone in his voice. “Wouldn’t you want help if you were them?”

The harsh glare in Yasha’s mismatched eyes softens. She steps out from the shadows and into the soft light of the oil lamp sat next to the radio transmitter. Anytime her defences come down is the time he knows he’s won.

“I will still intimidate them. If they try to steal all of our food and kill us, I will hit them first. And I will be ignoring you the rest of the night so you know I am still annoyed that you did something so reckless.”

“You have my permission,” he says with a bow.

“I do not need your permission,” she says with a small smile. “Goodnight, Mollymauk.”

A low blanket of fog has formed by the time light returns to whatever is left of Trostenwald. Beau barely slept, her mind too busy with all the dreadful possibilities of this tenuous alliance both with Caleb and Nott, and the people Fjord had jumped into a meeting with. By all the Gods, he’s lucky she didn’t smack him… more than she had.

She half-expects Caleb and Nott to leave them as soon as she stamps out their fire but they’re stood by the rest of them as they wait on the cracked and broken road, their breath (except Jester’s) steaming in the cold air. She keeps reaching behind her to touch the cold metal of the crowbar, just to check.

“I’m _boooored_ ,” Jester says, twirling around and sitting down on the sidewalk.

“Punctuality does not seem to be their first priority,” Caleb mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Maybe they ran into trouble,” Nott suggests, sounding more excited than nervous at the prospect.

“Maybe they got cold feet,” Beau says through gritted teeth, glaring at Fjord as though it’s all his fault. “I say we give it ten more minutes and then we go.”

“How will we know if it’s been ten minutes?” Jester says, her chin in her hands.

“Caleb will know,” Nott says. “He always knows exactly what time it is.”

Everyone turns to look at Caleb who seems to disappear into the mist slightly with all eyes on him. “ _Ja_ , she is right. It has been thirty-two seconds since Beau suggested waiting ten minutes. Thirty-six seconds. Thirty-nine —”

“Okay, okay, we get the idea,” Beau says, sensing how irritating that one trick is about to become.

“C’mon, let’s just give them a chance,” Fjord says, trying to placate the group but he’s definitely nervous he’s really fucked up this time. Unless they’re dead in the next ten minutes, Beau will cut him some slack.

They all return to their silent lookout. Nott wanders from the group, kicking up debris and picking up small objects before tossing them aside or pocketing them.

“It has been nine minutes and forty-seven seconds since Beauregard suggested we wait for ten minutes,” Caleb says after what seems like forever.

“That has to be both the most useful and most _irritating_ ability I’ve ever known someone having,” Beau says, pushing herself back up from where she had been squatting to stretch out her muscles. “Let’s get out of —”

“Wait, look!” Fjord holds out his hand and they all freeze as he peers through the mist. A triumphant smirk crosses his face: two figures, silhouetted through the mist, are drawing closer, one taller and broader than the other who, as they get closer, seem to have similar horns to Jester.

They huddle together, Fjord slightly ahead of them, clutching the handle of the long knife by his side. “Easy now,” he mutters. “Don’t spook them.”

“They’re not deer, Fjord,” Beau says, resisting the urge to smack him _again_.

“Hello there!” The voice from the radio calls out through the dense fog and it’s only until they’re just ten feet away that Beau can see the pair in detail and the breath is sucked from her lungs as if she’s been knocked out by the woman standing in front of them.

She’s never seen a woman quite this tall. It’s relatively overwhelming to be confronted by someone who’s arms looks as though they could crush Caleb into a red, mushy pulp with minimal effort. After his incessant counting, she kind of wants to find out if that’s true. _Kinda hot if true._ The woman is as pale as the sky above them, the tips of her long dark hair as white as the fog, and a small black line runs from her bottom lip to her chin that is tilted upward and set hard in an intimidating gesture. 

The tiefling standing next to her could not have chosen someone hotter, or more opposite from him, to be his companion… or bodyguard, Beau can’t quite tell. Maybe both. For as pale as the woman is, the soft and bright purple… everything brings colour back into the world. Ostentatious, yes, but as Jester’s blue reminds Beau of beautiful summer skies and paints the perfect picture of the sea on the Menagerie Coast, the lavender tugs on her heartstrings that yearn to return to the past.

He has his head tilted to one side, regarding the group curiously as if he’s deciding if the image he had conjured in his mind of them fits the reality in front of him. He seems to approve because he takes a couple of steps forward: the woman stays behind him, definitely less trustworthy.

“Well, you _do_ look like a fun troupe,” he says, the same gleeful tune in his voice from the previous night. “Let’s do some introductions, shall we? Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service, and this is my wonderfully dangerous companion, Yasha.”

He certainly beats anyone Beau has ever met in terms of confidence. If it’s fake, he’s doing a very good job of acting like the end of the world hasn’t changed his outlook on life. She kind of hates that.

“Name’s Fjord.” He reaches out his hand and Mollymauk takes it. “This here’s —”

“I’m Jester,” she says, springing forward and holding out her hand, too, which Mollymauk takes and bows low to kiss the top of it. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mollymauk.”

“Oh, my friends call me Molly and I can tell we are going to get along just perfectly, my dear,” he says, turning to the rest of the group. Beau stands a little taller when his piercing gaze turns to her: he has his own brand of intimidation with the red eyes.

“Beau,” she says shortly and he gives her a wicked grin. “Caleb and Nott,” she says quickly, waving a hand in their direction. “Can we go now?” she directs the question at Fjord.

“Ah, the obnoxious one was just how I imagined her to be,” Molly says, spinning back towards Yasha, his coat swirling around him causing the mist to rise and fall. 

Beau takes a step forward but walks straight into Fjord’s arm: he gives her a look she takes to mean ‘don’t do what you usually do’. She’s never been good at not acting like herself but the blade the woman, Yasha, is carrying is about a thick and long as her whole arm so maybe Fjord’s advice is solid for once.

“Wonderful, just wonderful to see you all,” Molly says, clapping his hands. “Shall we?” He gestures back the way the two of them had come from but no one moves. “Oh, let’s not be shy. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.”

Clearly no one else seems to think so. “We thank you for offering to help us,” Caleb says quietly, apprehension clear in his voice. “It would be nice to know that there are people left in this world whom you can trust.” The meaning is clear: be trustworthy, or else. 

“Then look no further! We should go where it’s safe, if you’d like to follow me.”

“There’s no one else here,” Beau says sharply: she firmly believes more than ever that they’re safer here than anywhere else.

“We’re surrounded by forest on all sides.” She jumps when Yasha speaks, not out of fright but because her voice is so… unexpected. It’s everything Yasha’s appearance is not: soft, quiet and completely non-threatening. It has the inexplicable quality to quell some of the boiling in Beau’s blood. “You can’t be sure it’s safe.”

“What my friend here is trying to say is that it would just be so very ironic if we were killed trying to help you all survive,” Molly says gravely. “By all means, talk about this amongst yourselves and we’ll pretend to not listen.”

Beau immediately grabs Fjord’s arm and drags him over to one side. The others follow, huddled in a small circle: Beau keeps peering over Caleb’s shoulder, keeping one eye on the two strangers.

“Absolutely not,” she says firmly. “You’ll have to knock me out and drag me along.”

“That sounds fun,” Nott says and Beau glares down at her. “I vote for that.”

“This is the _dumbest_ freaking plan I have ever heard of!” Beau says, jabbing Fjord in the chest. “You’ve got to be out of your damn mind, Fjord!”

“I think you’re overreacting here, Beau,” Fjord says calmly, holding his hands up. “I think the five of us could take them if anything happened.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me? Have you _seen_ who’s standing next to him? She could snap you in half!”

“Isn’t she _pretty_ , Beau? Did you see her eyes, they’re different colours, I’ve never seen that before!”

“That’s great, Jester,” Beau says, closing her eyes and trying to bite back the reaction of agreeing that _yes, yes Jester, Yasha is very pretty and tall and in another life, maybe, just maybe I’d do a horrible, horrible job at flirting with her._ “And what happened to making everything a group decision? Or is that only for choices the rest of us make?”

“Please don’t get upset, Beau,” Jester says, tugging on her sleeve. “It’s not Fjord’s fault, he’s only trying to help.”

“I, ah, have to agree with Beauregard,” Caleb says. “I do not like our odds.”

“See, Caleb agrees with me —”

“However… I believe Nott has a plan that would help us make a quick escape if this situation gets out of our hands,” he finishes, not wavering under Beau’s glare.

From out of her pocket, Nott pulls out a metal canister, a slightly maniacal grin on her face. “I found this a while ago. I’ve been saving it for the perfect moment and trying to figure out how to make more… but I think the idea is that if you pull out this little pin, smoke comes out. You’re invisible!”

“You found a smoke bomb?” Beau says, forgetting her anger for a moment and laughing. “Dude, that’s pretty dope.”

“Y’see? We’ve got options, Beau,” Fjord says, the relief clear in his eyes that someone has come up with something to give more credit to his stupid idea.

“If you even look at me I will roundhouse you,” Beau growls, pointing menacingly at him. “Listen, Nott, as soon as things start to go south, you drop that, okay?” Nott gives her a small salute and her eyes sparkle at the idea. She places it carefully back in her pocket as if it were made of glass.

“ _If_ they go wrong, Beau,” Jester says reprovingly. “Nott can use that and we all run away as fast as we can. But make sure we stick together, okay? Because I don’t want to lose anyone. Now, please, please can we go?”

“Fine, fine, we’ll go, but I swear to all the Gods, if I die, I’m going to fucking kill you, Fjord.” She turns away from the group and walks over to where Mollymauk and Yasha are standing.

“Excellent, excellent, you’re making the right choice,” Molly says and starts to walk back the way he had come from before anyone else can say a thing. Beau waits for Yasha to follow him, tries not to look her in the eyes to see if Jester was right about the colours: Yasha holds out her hand, a silent order for the rest of them to get in front of her.

Beau gives her a mock salute as she passes, keeping her distance from Molly who is striding ahead. She glances over her shoulder to see Yasha bringing up the rear behind Caleb and a slight chill of anxiety runs down her spine.

They walk in silence, probably not for lack of questions, but because they all seem to be focussed on their surroundings, not to mention looking out for any sudden movement from their two newest companions. Beau’s brain is screaming at her to run the other way, but each time she goes to turn and tell Fjord where he can stick it, the deep breath she takes draws cold into her lungs making her cough. 

If the situation weren’t so tense, it would almost be refreshing to not have to decide where their next steps would take them. After a while, Mollymauk turns off the road and begins to hike up the side of the bank towards the tree line. Their boots crunch over broken and charred wood as he leads them into a dense knot of trees.

“Where are we going?” Jester whispers to Beau, coming up beside her. There’s an unfamiliar tone of cautiousness in Jester’s voice: Beau hates it every time she hears it because she could really do without Jester becoming even half as cynical as she is. Their views on people based on first impressions were polar opposites but Jester’s ability to see the best in people was something Beau had sometimes been jealous of. She admires Jester for it. It’s one of her greatest strengths. It’s endearing.

But, like everything else, it is being lost. Another casualty of the heavy, consuming emptiness that is seared into all of them.

“No idea,” she says in answer to Jester and the nerves finally settle as hot prickles of anxiety in her stomach.

“We’ll be fine,” Jester whispers with her eyes narrowed in the direction of Mollymauk who calls over his shoulder, “we’re not too far now!”

“Where exactly are you taking us?” Nott calls from further back, sounding shrill.

“If we had wanted to kill you, we’d have done it already,” Molly calls back as an answer.

“Yeah, well, you can’t expect a group of strangers to be okay with you taking us to some creepy cabin in the woods,” Beau says, loud enough so she knows Molly has heard her.

“My dear, you can leave anytime you would like, neither of us are going to force you to follow. But, as dreadfully obnoxious as you are, I think you’re at least clever enough to know we’re your best hope at a safe place to stay before you all move on.”

His red eyes meet hers. She’s not sure how she can tell, but there’s a flicker of challenge in them. And when has she ever backed down from a challenge?

“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth, gesturing for Molly to lead on. The mist has settled thick and fast, snaking between the trees, making her hands slippery with condensation, her clothes starting to stick to her skin uncomfortably.

“This is a big risk for us to take, too,” Molly calls back to her and she jogs a couple of steps to catch up with him. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, we had to leave all our worldly possessions behind, walked through these woods to come and meet you all. And what if you were just waiting in the shadows to kill us at the first chance you had?”

“Why take the risk if you were so worried? Not that you needed to be with your friend watching your back.”

“Well, yes, Yasha could cut you all up into tiny pieces before you could scream your pretty little head off… but, I for one, am choosing to believe there is a little good left in the world,” Molly says with a sigh. “And the only way to believe is to act out the good yourself because I don’t believe you can trust anyone else with that challenge. You have to do what you can to help with the time you have left. And let us be honest here, no one knows when that time runs out, do they, dear?”

She has absolutely no answer to that and she can count the times she’s been left speechless on one hand. What does come to mind, however, is a very tiny, very annoying piece of trust that clings to everything like the mist beneath her feet.

“Man, I can’t tell whether you’re brave or stupid.” She settles for the gut-punch humour instead. 

“Isn’t every risk a little of both?” Molly says and dammit, now she has to count her speechlessness on two hands. “It’s not too much further.”

Beau drops her eyes to the path ahead as the trees start to become too dense to figure out what might be lurking in the shadows. The branches hang lower and she hears one snap as it jabs into Jester’s horns. A little further ahead, they come to a small clearing in the middle of which sits a run-down, weather-beaten cabin.

“Give the word, I’ll drop it.” She jumps as she hears Nott whispering next to her having snuck up to her. She holds her hand up as Molly unlocks a padlock, opening the door with a menacing _creak_ and nearly tumbles into Caleb standing next to her as Yasha pushes past, her tall frame disappearing into the shadow of the cabin.

The five of them stand outside in silence, glancing around at each other and their surroundings. Fjord clears his throat uncomfortably. “Well… shall we?”

“On your head, man,” Beau mutters, leading them inside. She blinks quickly to try and adjust her eyes to the darkness but then there’s a flicker of a flame and the cabin is bathed in a soft, orange glow from the lamp Yasha has lit.

Seven of them crammed into this room will definitely keep the cold at bay, that’s for sure. In one corner is a set of very rickety bunk beds covered in tattered blankets. The floorboards creak when Beau steps forward to allow the others to get inside and on the table she spots the radio system. Through the door next to the table, she can make out a small bathroom before the view is blocked by shadow.

“Excuse me? Would you mind moving your foot?”

She looks up into the blue and purple eyes of Yasha, and for the third time in one day, the words fall out of her brain. Just like her voice, the eyes carry a softness and calm Beau did not know the world could still contain.

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry?”

 _Shit._ “I… uh… I said _why_ .” _How is that any better, dumbass?_

“Because I would like to get under this floorboard.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, sorry, my bad.” She jumps back, stepping on Caleb’s foot, and Yasha kneels down, lifting up two floorboards and sticking her arm inside before pulling out some cans of food.

“Here you go.” She holds out a can to Caleb and bends down to give one to Nott. They both seem extremely wary but they seem the better option is to take what is being offered to them. Beau takes hers without even looking at Yasha. 

“Well, thank you kindly, but we really can’t accept this,” Fjord says. “You’re already giving us too much.”

“Speak for yourself!” Nott calls out, already opening her can. “I’m taking whatever I can get!”

“Well, now that you’ve eaten my food, I might have to eat you,” Yasha says bluntly and everyone freezes. “Oh… that was a joke. I’m sorry, was it not funny?”

“Hilarious,” Caleb deadpans, his eyes wide and Beau snickers, stopping as soon as Yasha glances at her, the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“It’s all in the tone, dear,” Molly sighs, currently pulling some blankets off the beds and laying them down on the floor. “And please, do take it. We have more than enough.”

Beau doesn’t need any more convincing and, really, after the shock had worn off, Yasha’s joke was pretty funny. They eat in silence, but the atmosphere seems to have shifted into a mutual territory of trust for now.

For the second time in two days, the combination of food, warmth and a lot of walking on an empty stomach casts a sleepy haze over everyone, though Beau isn’t sure how any of them can fall asleep surrounded by those they’ve only known for half a day.

It seems she isn’t the only one who is taking an unspoken watch. Yasha had given up her bed to Jester who couldn’t turn down Yasha’s “really, really sweet” offer and was currently sat leaning against the wooden frame. It’s hard to tell if she’s asleep or not in the semi-darkness, but eventually she lets out a long sigh and sinks her shoulders as if it’s the first moment she’s relaxed all day.

It’s a weirdly tense silence with everyone else drifting into a deep sleep. Or maybe she’s just imagining it’s tense to give her the excuse to form some kind of coherent sentence around Yasha for once and break the silence without embarrassing herself. She clears her throat and Yasha looks over at her but she doesn’t say anything, the words caught somewhere between her brain trying not to make a fool out of her and her mouth that likes to run off. 

“So… where’re you from?” 

_Nope, still embarrassing._ Silence. _Truly embarrassing._ More silence. _That’s it, never talk to women, ever again._

“Xhorhas. You?”

“Huh. Xhorhas. Never been. What’s it like there?” Beau asks.

“Um… it’s okay,” Yasha shrugs. Her short answers don’t seem to be about deterring Beau from talking to her, but rather nerves.

“Yeah… Kamordah was just kinda okay, too.” A lot less than okay. “Rexxentrum, though? Man, that place was a _trip_. That’s where I went to study, got lucky enough to meet those two,” she says fondly, gesturing to where Fjord and Jester are asleep.

“That sounds… fun.”

“Yeah, it was. Until, you know, end of the world, all that shit. Not so fun after that. I try not to think about, to be honest.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Beau shrugs and Yasha clears her throat. “That must have been… difficult. To leave it behind.”

“I guess,” she shrugs again. “But it was anarchy. Six years we held out. But in the end we knew it was safer to run away. It’s not like we could do anything to stop it.”

“Do you think it’s safer to be out here?” Yasha asks, now seemingly genuinely curious. For someone of so little words, Beau is finding her increasingly easy to talk to. Maybe it’s because she knows Yasha is listening to every word that comes out of her mouth. The undivided attention… it’s pretty sweet.

“Hell no. But with the right people, it helps. And even if it isn’t safe, at least we’re not what some people turned into,” Beau says. “That’s what Fjord says, anyway.”

“That sounds like something Molly would say,” Yasha smiles. “Do you agree with him?”

Beau leans her head back against the wall, staring at the black wall opposite. “Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier to do that. Easier, not better.” 

“I think I understand,” Yasha says slowly. “I know some people who would not have made the better choice.”

Beau has an idea of similar people she’s known. The thought doesn’t cause her as much pain as she had expected, mostly because it isn’t the first time she’s thought of them. She scratches her chin, unsure of what to say to that when Yasha seems to be lost in thought.

“Hey, well, you know what I think?” she says finally, hitching a grin on her face and Yasha turns to her. “Sometimes it works out pretty well being on the good side, right?” She holds out her hand, a tangible gesture of trust between them, and slowly but surely, Yasha grips her forearm in some semblance of a handshake that sets Beau’s skin on fire.

Only hours ago she had been adamant against trusting Molly and Yasha, against all of Fjord’s plan to get them somewhere safe for the night. But it seems that just like her, just like Fjord and Jester, just like Caleb and Nott, just like Molly, Yasha is holding onto the hope that, for once, they’re not alone in being the good guys.


	4. burn the night to day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tagged relationship as that is the endgame for this fic. this was finished in a rush and i've read it through too many times to be happy with it but i hope folks enjoy! feedback has been and is really really appreciated

The ear-splitting  _ crash  _ startles Yasha from the cliffs-edge of sleep. Her eyes snap open as a blinding orange light pierces them, disorientating her as the scent of smoke invades her nose, the sound of wood cracking and splintering bursts her eardrums, and the taste of hot ash burns her throat as the sweat trickles down her back.

And then she is wide awake. The smoke stings her eyes so badly tears start to run down her cheeks immediately and the heat crushes her with a weight that makes her bend over double.

“Get up! Go! Run!”

Soot-stained hands roughly shake the shoulders of the bodies closest to her, rousing them out of their confusion into fear and the sounds of fire are accompanied by screams and shouts as everyone clamours to pull each other up and out and away.

She grabs her knife without looking, the blade nearly melting her flesh and cutting deep and she has seconds to leap towards the door and kick it down as easily as putting her foot through a glass window. Something tingles on the back of her neck and she turns to see Molly scrambling to pick up what he can as Caleb and Nott run. Jester and Fjord barrel past her, Beau is leaping ahead of them, glancing over her shoulder and yelling obscenities swallowed by the flames.

“Molly!”

“Right behind you, love, now keep moving!”

He stumbles to the door and she grabs his underarm, yanking him out of the door as the timber cracks and falls. There’s a second to stare until the panic they haven’t had time to process propels them through what feels like the centre of the earth. Her long strides catch them up with Fjord who has one arm raised over his head, trying to cover both himself and Jester from falling branches and white-hot ash. She can just about see Beau darting and what little breath that remains in her lungs is expelled when a blazing red branch falls where Beau was moving a half-second before.

Blood pounds in her ears as the fire sweeps and chases them through the trees, wood cracking like gunshots around them. She watches as Nott stumbles next to her on a charred, fallen log and Yasha sweeps her up in one movement with her free hand, holding her close as sheer adrenaline drives them all towards the edge of the woods, spilling from the trees and onto a dirt track that separates them from death and the open fields.

Her momentum pushes her further and further forward, what feels like miles, and Nott leaps from her grasp and then her knees hit the hard dirt, her throat screaming as she throws up black smoke and bile, the ashy taste making her retch more until her throat is dry and scratched and the adrenaline is the only thing stopping her from feeling the pain of drawing clean air into her lungs.

Her head swims as she rolls onto her back, staring up at the grey sky turning black as her eyes flicker shut. She can hear Molly swearing softly somewhere nearby, coughing and more retching. With enormous effort she lifts herself up onto her hands and knees and stares at the fire as it burns terribly bright despite how far away they had run. She can hear the trees falling in the distance as plumes of smoke blacken the sky. As the adrenaline fades, she becomes faintly aware of pain in her left hand where she had grabbed the blade. She stares down at her hands, one crimson and blistered, the other grey with ash.

A shadow falls over her, blocking out the orange, red, and yellow to replace it with blue as Jester’s face swims into view. She wraps a gentle hand around her wrist and, with more strength than she expected, pulls Yasha to her feet. 

“Yasha, are you okay? That looks painful.”

“Yes, I’m okay, thank you Jester. Did you know you’re bleeding?” She points to a small trickle of blood on Jester’s cheek where a branch had whipped into her skin.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jester says, reaching into her pockets and pulling out an unravelled length of bandage. “Here, give me your hand, you shouldn’t be walking around with an open wound, it could get infected and then fall off and that really wouldn’t be good,” she says seriously, though Yasha has to suppress the urge to laugh at the phrasing.

She splashes a small amount of water onto Yasha’s hand, more than they can probably spare, and with practised delicacy, wraps her hand. The blood doesn’t seem to be seeping through immediately and Jester looks relatively happy at that.

“There! I’ll look at it again soon, okay?”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

“Sure!” Jester flashes her a pointed smile and skips over to where Fjord is still hacking and spluttering. Yasha watches her go with a light feeling in her chest: how special Jester’s kindness is when they’ve just escaped a gruesome death.

She can’t stand to watch the forest burn. A hand rests on her shoulder, the weight comforting, slightly numbing the anger she feels at the loss of their only safe place they had left. But at least she still has her friend: she turns to him and even for someone who takes everything with a pinch of optimism, she can tell he is not okay.

Together, they walk over to the others. Fjord is sweating, his hands on his knees, his black hair peppered with ash. A few feet away, there’s somewhat of a commotion: Jester, Nott, Beau, and Caleb are gathered in a small group and Nott seems to be screaming at Beau.

“You wouldn’t understand! Give him a minute, he’ll be okay!”

For a brief second, she thinks Caleb is injured: Jester is hovering around him and Beau looks confused and is bent over to look Caleb, who is on his knees, in the eye. But Yasha doesn’t see any significant injury.

“What’s wrong?” She stands next to Beau who reaches out to shake Caleb’s shoulders before Nott smacks away her hand.

“Leave him alone!”

Caleb is catatonic. It’s not just shock and panic, it’s absolute paralytic… something. He doesn’t even blink as Beau waves a hand in front of his face, he doesn’t even seem to notice that he is in fact bleeding slightly or that his breath is coming out in ragged, harsh sounds.

“Um… should we do something?” Yasha asks. It seems like such a strangely personal moment that it feels indecent to stare at him, but she can’t not: she’s never seen someone react so strongly but then again, she has spent the last six years with Mollymauk who brushes things off as easily as water off a duck’s back.

“What don’t you all get about leaving him alone!” Nott says, pushing Beau’s leg so she can get to Caleb and take one of his hands in hers. “Caleb, it’s okay. No one was hurt.” Beau makes a skeptical noise and Nott nearly hisses at her. “We’re all okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

That seems a strange thing to say but Caleb doesn’t respond. When she sees the flames reflecting in Caleb’s glassy stare, the idea comes to her. If he’s transfixed by the flames, they have to block them out. She stands behind Nott, and casts her long, broad shadow over the two of them. She pretends not to notice Nott cowering slightly in apprehension and continues to stand there, watching until the glassy reflection in Caleb’s eyes softens and he blinks.

He screws his eyes shut and shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. When he opens them again, he glances down at Nott and pats her hands with his. Yasha doesn’t feel compelled to move until Nott tugs on his arms and pulls him around so his back is to the fire.

“Nice move,” Beau mutters to her, still frowning.

“I didn’t know it would help,” Yasha says truthfully.

“Everything okay over here?” Fjord and Molly have joined them, both looking worse for wear. 

“Yeah, except for Caleb having a breakdown,” Beau says and Yasha frowns at the bite in her voice: it seems unnecessary and a little harsh, considering how terrified Caleb had looked. “What?” she shrugs when she realises everyone is giving her a look.

“Breakdown? You okay there, Caleb?” Fjord seems to be genuinely concerned and at the sound of his name, Caleb shakes himself again.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I realise my reaction was not… normal.”

“Yeah, about the furthest thing from,” Beau snorts and Yasha can’t really blame Nott for rounding on her.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she snaps. “Leave him alone.”

“Hey, whatever man, we all have our shit,” Beau says, holding up her hands. The silence turns uncomfortable but not as much as Caleb looks with all eyes on him. He drops his gaze to the mud beneath their feet.

“Well, it’s no use hanging around here,” Molly says, a little too cheerfully for the situation. He picks up his pack and throws one strap over the shoulder, looking around the group. “Where are we heading?”

“Woah, woah. ‘ _ We _ ’? Who said anything about ‘we’?” Beau says, crossing her arms. Yasha has to admit she preferred the Beau she had spoken to during the night.

“In case you didn’t realise,  _ dear _ , we just escaped the fires of all the Nine Hells and no one left anyone behind to get turned into ash,” Molly says. “I would say that makes us a group.”

Beau looks like she has to really concentrate on controlling her tone and body language to sound a little less unfriendly. She lets out a long sigh and holds her hands out in a gesture of calm.

“All I’m saying is that, well… seven various beings might just attract a little bit of attention we might not want,” she says and the silence is even more uncomfortable than before as they all take stock of each other. 

“There can be safety in numbers,” Fjord says, perhaps a little half-heartedly. 

“There’s also safety in smaller groups who know how to stay out of trouble,” Beau points out.

“So, what’re you saying?” Molly says, though Yasha knows he understands what Beau is saying perfectly well.

“I’m saying that maybe we’re… a few too many,” Beau says in a rush.

“So, five people you were fine with but as soon as we show up, it’s too many?” Molly says, flashing his fangs just a little.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal —”

“Oh, no need to explain, dear. It’s not like we need you anyway, we’ve always handled this world just fine by ourselves, isn’t that right Yasha?”

She’s taken aback by being asked for her opinion in what seems like a fight no one else wants to get involved in, content on keeping their opinions firmly to themselves. She wants to do the same and luckily, Beau runs her mouth some more to spare her the embarrassment.

“Then why did you come and find us? If you’re okay with being by yourselves, why bother?”

At this, Molly laughs, his grin wider now. “My dear, can you blame me? After all, I had to see if Fjord’s face was as dashingly handsome as his voice. I’m  _ so  _ glad I was right.”

His lack of an answer only causes more irritation to show on Beau’s face and Yasha can’t help but feel that if Molly continues to poke and prod and irritate Beau more, she might not be so strangely diplomatic.

“Hows about this for a compromise of sorts?” Fjord steps in between Beau and Molly, his cheeks a little ruddy. “We can all travel together for a time, at least to get away from these woods. We’re not a million miles from Zadash so let’s make that our way point where we can decide if this arrangement is working for everyone.”

“Fjord, we’re like at least two weeks away from Zadash,” Beau says.

“Give or take,” Fjord says, ignoring the meaning behind what she had said. “Two weeks to at least pretend to get along with everyone.”

“Oh, come on Beau! This will be so fun!” Jester says, tugging on Beau’s arm and her shoulders relax a touch. “You’ll change your mind, I just  _ know _ it.”

Somehow, Yasha thinks changing Beau’s mind would take a miracle and she can’t help but feel a little let down by that thought. She’s known the woman for barely a day, and yet after their conversation last night, she had imagined Beau to not be quite as skeptical and stubborn with all her talk about being on the good side. More than that, she had  _ connected _ with what Beau had said, her words so similar to Molly’s, something she knows Beau would hate to hear. She’s not all that good at reading people, but Yasha can guess that their stubbornness and philosophies may just be one of the reasons they’ve taken a dislike to each other.

She hopes Jester is right. It’s been nice to know that it’s not just Molly who is so steadfast in his belief that there are far worse people out there than themselves.

“There are approximately seven hours of light per day. If we walk at a medium pace, we could walk seventeen miles per day which would mean in two weeks we could cover a distance of two hundred and thirty-eight miles. I believe the distance from Trostenwald to Zadash is two hundred and forty-two miles.”

Caleb says all of this in one hurried breath with his eyes still on the ground and Yasha isn’t sure if he’s more worrying in his catatonic state or right now. Everyone else is speechless, like Caleb took up all the words they were allotted as a group.

“Um… thank you for clearing that up, Caleb,” Fjord says, making a passable attempt at acting like that was a normal pace of speech for a human. “What… what exactly does that mean?”

“What he’s saying is that you don’t have to put up with us for more than fifteen days,” Molly says, clapping Caleb on the shoulder which makes him jump nearly a foot in the air. “It’ll be longer the more we stand around and bicker.”

Beau can’t argue with that and she just shrugs her discontent. “Lead the way, Caleb.”

“Ja… South is this way,” Caleb mutters and turns abruptly to lead them away from the burning forest and the one santucuary they had now lost.

Slowly, and with what feels like a heavy cloud of distrust and apprehension, the rest of them start to form a line behind him as he strides with an organised purpose over the crest of a hill. Yasha follows on last of all, content to follow the group and keep them all in her sights in case of… surprises. It feels as though she’s had to do a lot of trusting in a short space of time and what makes her even more uncomfortable is that she feels as though this world does not grant a lot of time for asking questions. It’s an uneasy alliance.

However, nothing untoward happens. Caleb keeps them on the right road, reminding them how many hours of light they have left before it would be wise to stop and make camp for the night. Yasha isn’t used to walking for what feels like days on end, but she’s stronger than some of the others and notices when they begin to fall behind. For a human, she’s surprised how long Beau stays at a consistent speed, more so than Caleb, but just by looking at her, Yasha can tell she’s one of the more athletic members of the group. 

Not that she’s  _ staring _ at Beau, she’s just in her eye line. 

All the time.

She wonders what will happen when they reach Zadash. She doesn’t exactly have any pull to go to the Menagerie Coast but someone as cynical as Beau seems to believe there is something there for them which intrigues her. She knows it will be up to her to decide where she and Molly will go: he takes everything in his stride but he needs her to match it. Well… maybe these are all thoughts to push aside for fourteen days.

They hike along the road and past small pockets of houses they can’t call towns, over fields and into small patches of woodland. As the dark starts to creep over the road, their pace has slowed considerably: Nott is being carried on Caleb’s shoulders and Jester is shouldering both her pack and Fjord’s. Beau, who is now leading and is a little too far ahead for anyone to feel comfortable, comes to a stop, gesturing into the distance where Yasha can just make out the outline of a building.

It turns out to be a rundown motel. The once-neon sign of the Nestled Nook Inn hangs limply from a post, the wires loose. The windows are mostly smashed in, the paint is chipped and faded into a horrible grey-white, and the stairway to the second floor is rusted. It looks mostly deserted but there’s a tingling aura about the area that makes the hairs on the back of Yasha’s neck stand up. She finds herself gripping the handle of her blade tighter as they make an unspoken decision to make camp.

“Are you sure this is safe, Beauregard?” Caleb asks as they approach, letting Nott down from his shoulders.

“We would be dead by now if it wasn’t safe,” Yasha says and Beau turns and smiles her appreciation at the support, the first sign of a positive emotion Yasha has seen on her face all day. It’s a welcome departure from her earlier mood and it seems to brighten the gloom somehow.

“I didn’t survive burning alive to die in a seedy motel,” Molly says just loud enough for everyone to hear and Yasha doesn’t miss the exhale of a laugh from Beau.

Nott has her crossbow raised before they’ve even reached one of the rooms. Beau starts to make various hand signals at her and everyone looks as confused as Yasha feels, including Nott. 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me, what’s with the hand stuff?”

Beau rolls her eyes. “I was saying… nevermind, just, I’ll open it from here and then you point that crossbow and I’ll cover you, okay?”

“Does it really need to be that complicated, there’s no one here,” Nott says, dropping her crossbow.

“We don’t know that!”

“Yes, we do, because in the time it’s taken you two to have this little spat, the evil murderous cannibals lurking behind this door would have already jumped out at us and have our arms roasting on spits.”

While the description was completely unnecessary, Yasha silently agrees that Molly is right on this one. Beau and Nott are too busy getting their heads around what he’s said to notice her stepping out of the line behind Fjord and she stomps towards the door, kicking it in with an echoing crack in the same motion.

And nothing happens. No explosion of noise, no sudden movements, no cannibals running at them and roasting their arms on spits. She still draws her blade and takes a step inside, ignoring Jester’s held breath of anticipation.

Everyone is absolutely still. Even Molly isn’t saying anything. Maybe they’re surprised they’ve lucked out and no one is here. Maybe they’re just now realising the truth of the world: no one is here because there aren’t enough survivors to crawl into every abandoned corner of the earth.

Maybe they’re finally taking in what has happened since the fire and what the fire has caused them all to realise in the heavy, grey silence. A thought someone has to say out loud. So she does.

“We’re alone.”

***

She’s surprised she still has the energy left to keep her eyes open. They still feel like they’re burning from the fire, dry and irritated, much like Molly’s sense of humour. The darkness is helping to soothe them but she keeps thinking she’s seeing shapes moving in the shadows outside. 

So she’s awake. Her eyes ache too much to sleep and her brain is shocking her awake whenever the fringes of sleep creep up. But it’s not just the shadows. Caleb’s freak out had concerned her, both on the level that he’s clearly hiding something and also… just for his own safety. As much as it would probably be easier to not care seeing as they’re saying goodbye in Zadash, something is very clearly wrong with the man.

She hopes he can find some peace somewhere. She hopes they all can. The past couple of days have contained more action than the past six years since the world ended and it feels as though the world is trying to right itself at a nauseating speed. But what even is  _ right _ in this world? 

_ Ugh, way too philosophical. _

Is it right to say goodbye so soon after meeting good people? Is it right to be the one to separate their new group, separate them from connection and safety? Is it right to put everyone in more danger than necessary?

_ Fuck this _ . Yes, that just about sums it all up.  _ Fuck this _ . Fuck the world for ending. Fuck the bullshit spewing out of other human mouths, bullshit that has always flowed and destroyed and flooded the streets with hatred.  _ Fuck it all. _

It’s about as eloquent as Beau feels she can be. It’s as eloquent as she really  _ needs _ to be. And as the anger at everything that has happened in the past six years seeps through her bones once again, she finds her eyes falling on the people huddled around the room, the people with so many stories and memories and hope and goals, and for one tiny,  _ good _ moment, believed that maybe yes… the world is trying to right itself after all.


End file.
